Free Currawalli Street by Christopher Morgan Page A

rest of the morning lying in your arms in our bed, and then I wouldlike to go into the city and have lunch at the Savoy Hotel.’
    â€˜I can do all of that.’
    That is how they spend the morning. Eric thinks that there are two kinds of light that a woman’s body looks best in: candlelight and morning light. Through the open window, they can smell distant smoke. A bushfire somewhere miles away.
    Johnny Oatley watches his horse sniff the air. He knows what it means. He looks for a gap in the trees by the side of the road, and when he finds one he steers the horse off, lets her wander away through the bracken. Then he looks ahead to the horizon and sees a line of smoke. Bushfire.
    It is his second day on this track and he is well into the rhythm of travel. His mind works better in a setting like this. He watches the smoke for five minutes to see how quickly it is being lifted away from the flames and whether there is any irregular movement. He decides to continue, knowing that he will have to be alert from now on. Many times he has seen a bushfire at this distance; the first time was when he and his father sat on the big hill above their home and watched a line of fire eat its way through the scrub; he stood with local Aboriginals and watched another, knowing he wouldn’t have to retreat until they did. He and bushfires aren’t strangers. The fire is about twenty miles away but the tiniest change in the wind direction or speed can amplify a fire’s passage and alter its path in seconds. Fire has a mind of its own: that’s what his father told him on that hilltop. People of that generation knew it was best to stay away from these fires. They could never be tethered or fenced in or cut down or controlled.
    He is glad now that Kathleen hasn’t accompanied him. He doesn’t want her to see him frightened. Of all the things in the bush, it is bushfire that scares him the most. You can sense what a wild horse or an angry snake will do. You can estimate how much water is around when you’re going to need a drink under a relentless sun. You can see where the high spots are when a flood is coming. But the only thing you can know for certain about a bushfire is that it will burn. You can’t tell where, or for how long, or at what speed. But you can be sure that it will be absolute and without mercy.
    Suddenly he sees a carriage travelling quickly along the track towards him. It is pulled by two horses and another two riders are behind it. Johnny doesn’t like this. Even from a distance, he can see that they are fleeing something. He decides to go no further and wait to hear their story.
    The retreating group is upon him in a few minutes. He lifts his hat to them. The carriage, loaded with furniture, is being driven by a woman in her forties with a child on either side. The pair on horseback, an older man in his fifties and a youth, ride over to the gap in the trees at the side of the road to look back at the smoke before turning their attention to Johnny.
    â€˜The fire’s coming,’ the older man says. He waves the carriage and the boy on and they continue up the track.
    â€˜It doesn’t look too fast.’
    â€˜We have been travelling for two days now. This is the furthest it has been behind us. It burned through our land and has been chasing us ever since.’
    â€˜Maybe it will burn itself out soon,’ says Johnny.
    â€˜You would think so. There’s a railway line up the track, is therenot?’
    â€˜It’s at least a day away, probably two with a carriage.’
    â€˜I know. It can’t be helped. We can’t go in any other direction. We’re going to leave the carriage behind and catch a train to the city. I’m not confident that this fire will burn itself out.’
    The man looks exhausted and frightened. He knows and Johnny knows that there is nothing that any human can do to help. A bushfire answers to no one’s logic. It burns